


Round and Round We Go

by snufflesfoot



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Canon Era, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 11:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1742756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snufflesfoot/pseuds/snufflesfoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Arthur catches Merlin with a stable boy, he can't seem to stop...<em>looking</em> at his manservant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Round and Round We Go

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this.](http://snufflesfoot.tumblr.com/post/83097409981/mamalaz-merthur-canon-au-after-catching-merlin)

The steady thump of his horse’s gallop matched his heartbeat perfectly and he was quite sure he looked like a right fool with the stupid grin on his face, but he couldn’t care less because he was breathless and giddy and ecstatic and free – free of the armor and the crown, the tedious charters and painted-on smiles.

But then a faint purple began to bleed into the fair spring sky and he shivered a bit in his thin tunic and, far too soon, his time was up, back to rules and responsibilities for him.  Arthur turned his mare around with a soft kick to her side and reluctantly knelt forward, urging her on so as to not miss his curfew.

He dragged into the stables a half hour later and scanned the place for Merlin, but with no results, despite the fact that he explicitly told his useless servant to be here when he returned.  

Arthur sighed and wondered why he even bothered being surprised by Merlin’s incompetence anymore. 

His musings were cut short by a high pitched noise coming from one of the stalls on his right.  Was that a…giggle?   

He cautiously walked over, more than a bit puzzled; who would be in the stables at night, and moreover, _laughing_ to themselves?

He slowly nudged the creaking door open and could now make out two distinct shapes, though they were tangled quite closely together.  Arthur flushed as he realized his grievous misunderstanding and tried to back quietly out.  

Tried, but failed, as he tripped backwards over a water pail and landed flat on his arse, feet in the air, face a bright red.

He heard a sharp yelp from inside and then a thud as someone fell of the stack of hay, scrambling to get decent.  Arthur pushed himself off the hard dirt and dusted himself off, determinedly staring at everything but the two people.

“S-Sorry,” Arthur stuttered, “I didn’t mean to –”

“Arthur?”

The quiet and mortified voice stopped Arthur in his stumbling apologies and he looked up sharply from his studies in horse excrement.

And then choked on his tongue.

“Merlin?”  his tone a mixture of horrified and something else twinging at the pit of his stomach, as he took in his servant, a rumpled tunic and trousers being held up with only a pale and slender hand, eyes so wide he could see his own reflection in them, and lips held slightly agape, still a bright pink and so impossibly swollen.

This alarming staring contest would have gone on for quite some time if Arthur had not noticed Merlin’s…friend.

Who was most decidedly not female.

A painter would have been much impressed by the rapid range of colors that were being displayed across Arthur’s face.  He opened and closed his mouth, looking quite like an affronted fish, perhaps about to tell Merlin off, or the stable hand (who was looking entirely too happy for being caught in such a compromising situation), or maybe just to implore the gods of the earth to swallow him down and end this terrible misery.

In the end, he didn’t really remember how he got out of that hellhole, just that now he was pacing around his chambers, biting his nails, with a sort of static ringing filling his ears, and the moment before he was surrounded by the drifting pieces of hay and the thick smell of horse and the boy who did something to him, he wasn’t quite sure what, but _something_ happened every time he smirked from under his eyelashes or his fingers whispered down his arm or muttered a stupid wisecrack on a particularly tense night.

A sharp rap at his door brought Arthur back to the world, and, without thinking, he walked over and pulled it open, probably assuming it was some guard, come to tell him his father needed him.

But of course, that was not the case.

In hindsight, who else had a knock that insolent.

Merlin stared wide-eyed at Arthur for a moment before launching off into a breathless ramble.

“Look Arthur, it was nothing, he was just washing the buckets and then the horse fell and I picked – no, I mean the bucket was washing the horse and he fell and –”

Arthur let the incomprehensive babble wash over him for a second before he stopped Merlin with his hand, doubting if even he knew what was coming out of his mouth, and forced himself to say,

“Merlin, I really don’t care.”

It was now Merlin’s turn to freeze and imitate a perplexed sea creature.  His eyes widened comically and Arthur was pretty sure if he let him go on for a minute longer, he would just fall and start flopping on the floor.

“You’re…not mad?”

Arthur’s Adam’s apple bobbed involuntarily at Merlin’s tone, so utterly innocent and confused, but he composed himself and managed to shrug indifferently.

“Of course not.  What you do on your own time is none of my business.  But I do expect your full services when I require them.”

“Right.  Of course.  Well, um, I’ll just…uh, be going then…” Merlin turned uncertainly and took a step out the door, but whirled around again.  “You don’t require my services now, do you?” and then added after a hesitant pause, “Sire?”

Arthur shook his head, a hint of a smile returning to his face.  At least Merlin would always be a bumbling fool, if nothing else.

“No, you may go.”

Arthur took a slow, deep breath and puffed it out all at once, trying to expel the trickle of disappointment that had for some reason seeped in, brewing into a vile sludge in the pit of his stomach.  And though exhaustion got the better of him and he fell into bed, sleep did not grace him until he could see the soft gray light of early morning.

 

~*~

 

Merlin woke with a sharp crick in his neck, due to the fact that he didn’t actually go to bed last night, but rather stood at the foot of it, staring blankly at the dirty white wall before him, trying, but ultimately failing, to comprehend the events of the last few hours, and at some point during the night, or maybe it was morning, the temple of his head had ended up just barely resting on the hard edge of his cot, his body curled into itself on the dirt floor.

Merlin pulled himself up, conscious of his creaking bones from his night on the ground, and rolled his sore neck side to side, rubbed his eyes in the first light of morning filtering through the single dirty window, making the floating motes of dust in front of it shimmer and glisten.  

He yawned and promptly choked on them.

Clearing his throat, he padded into the main room in search of some food and found Gaius instead, hunched over a pot that was spewing smoke, and, Merlin swore, shooting up the odd spark.

"Ah, Merlin, there you are.  Breakfast will be done in a minute."

Merlin eyed the steaming, lumpy blobs warily.  "That's....breakfast?" and then muttered to himself, "That's food?"

Apparently the old man had impeccable hearing because he bestowed an impressive glare on the still bleary-eyed boy, but then his lips twitched up a bit when he sighed and pointed up to the cupboard next to him and said, "There's some leftover chicken in there" and the effect was ruined.

With a thankful smile, Merlin reached up and plucked the bowl from the back, and dug in while Gaius gave him a verbal list of chores for the day.  He was only on his third bite when Gaius reminded him of the feast Arthur had with King Alined that night.  

At the mention of Arthur’s name, yesterday came back to him in a blur of hay and flusters and confusions and the bowl clattered to the ground, splintering into a million tiny pieces.

Gaius started at the sound.  "Merlin, what happened?"

Merlin put the bowl back together with a distracted wave of his hand, ignoring Gaius’s outraged scolds for the apprehension already filling his bones.

Arthur.  Saw him.  With a stable boy.  And he was okay with it...or at least, he said he was.  Merlin groaned.  All these complications were getting to be too much for him, and he could feel a raging headache swirling behind his eyes.

He rubbed his forehead and sighed, turning towards the door.  “Sorry Gaius.  I have to go.”  And with that he stepped out the door, unhearing of the ‘ _Are you okay?_ ’s and ‘ _But what about breakfast?_ ’s following him to Arthur’s chambers.

He pushed open the heavy door just a crack and peered into the room, which was still dark and a bit musty.

He’d thought about it all the way here, about how he was going to play this, how he was going to get through this awkwardness without succumbing to the desire of just jumping into the river and never coming back up.

After a few moments of staring at the lump under the tangled pile of blankets that he couldn’t quite be sure was Arthur, he supposed that feigning ignorance was the best decision, and walked across the room to drag the curtains back, flinching as the already brightening light hit him square in the eyes.

He heard a petulant grumble coming from the bed and suddenly a golden mess of hair, spiked in every direction imaginable, popped out from the asphyxiating mass of sheets.  

The flop groaned quietly.

Merlin pushed a smile on his face and chirped, "Morning Sire!" and turned his back, making his way around the room, dusting things here and there and moving things aimlessly around, and finally set about clearing the table for Arthur's breakfast, rambling about all the things Arthur had to do today and steadfastly not meeting his eyes.

Arthur, for his part, was being unnaturally quiet.  He usually had to be wrangled from his bed every morning, but now he was only silently rubbing the sleep from his eyes.  He sighed resignedly as he accepted the brutal fact that he actually had to get out of bed and do things today, but stilled as he saw the back of his manservant bustling around the room.  The back that brought back all the unwanted happenings of yesterday, of befuddlement and uneasiness and irrational stabs of gloom.

Arthur cleared his throat and said, far too loudly, “That’s quite all right, Merlin.  I’ll get George to bring my breakfast up.  You can go help Gaius today, I’m sure he needs it with all these, er, sick…people.”

Merlin twisted around, utterly baffled as to why Arthur was being so generous all of a sudden, and met the abrupt altruist’s eyes dragging up from where they were wide and glazed over, staring at the back of his…belt?  Merlin looked down, wondering if the thin piece of leather had suddenly sprouted wings, but seeing nothing different, raised his head again, brow scrunched in vague bewilderment.

“You’re giving me the day off?” he asked incredulously, and then frowned a little.  “Are you feeling alright?”

Arthur gave a fast shake of his head to clear the thoughts of backs and backsides, then huffed, exasperated.  “Yes, I’m perfectly fine.  Just go tell George to come up here.”

“Are you sure?  It’s no trouble for me to get it…actually that’s kind of my j –”

“Just.  Go.”  Arthur’s voice was strained now and the pretty blue vein across his forehead bulged and looked not so pretty anymore, so Merlin thought it best to make the most of this rare opportunity before Arthur changed his mind.  Or finally snapped and killed him. So he only rubbed the nape of his neck and shuffled out, not a little unsettled.

 

~*~

 

Gaius ordered Merlin out to gather herbs before he had hardly set a foot in the doorway to announce that he was free for the day, and, when scolded that these were life-saving herbs, he grumbled that sleep was life-saving, too, but grabbed the basket and headed out anyway, grinning in response to Gaius’ signature unimpressed eyebrow. 

It turned out that a trip into the forest did Merlin good, and as he picked the last of the herbs, the last of his headache faded.  Swinging his basket, he headed back to the castle, brushing against sweet smelling clover and smiling with the trills of hummingbird songs.

Although he really should have been paying attention to where he was going, because just as he entered the courtyard, he ran smack into cold armor and fell hard on the ground, flat on his back, basket flying into the air and landing a few feet away from him, its contents spilled everywhere.

Merlin groaned.  Gaius was going to kill him.

“You dolt,” Arthur, the body attached to the armor, said, annoyed, and grabbed Merlin’s shirt to roughly pull him up.

“Sorry,” Merlin mumbled, dusting himself off, and surveyed the damage to the plants.

He sighed in defeat and bent down to gather what could be salvaged from the mess of herbs, but straightened up again when Arthur, for lack of a better word, squeaked.

Merlin scrunched his brow in worry.  “What’s wrong?”

Arthur was staring at the spot above where Merlin had just been hunched over but quickly looked up, only to focus on the corner of Merlin’s lips.

“There’s a…petal on your mouth,” he said blankly, gesturing with a limp hand.

“Oh.”  Merlin reached up to wipe it off, and it stuck to his finger, a tiny, frail, golden thing.  “It’s from a dandelion,” he recognized, feeling quite proud of himself for his knowledge, and held the finger up to Arthur’s eye level.  

“They’re especially handy after a night of too many drinks,” he grinned and nudged Arthur, but then dropped his hand as the man continued to wear the same unblinking expression.

Merlin cocked his head.  “Why are you staring at me?”

That seemed to jar Arthur out of his curious daze.  “What?  No I’m not.  Don’t be stupid, Merlin,” and all but sprinted to the practice field, with Merlin left staring behind him, mystified.

If this was the man that was going to rule it, Merlin was actually quite concerned for the future of Camelot.

 

~*~

 

A chorus of heavy stomps, the thwack of the door being flung open, and a litany of groans and curses, with an ending note of, “GAIUS” wrenched Merlin unceremoniously from his much-needed nap.  He jumped to his feet and his eyes swept the room, harried.

“What happened?  Who’s hurt?”

“Where’s Gaius?”  Merlin turned his head to the voice coming from just inside the room, the tone laced with a hint pain, and the man swaying slightly.

“He went to give some knight his medicine.  What’s wrong, Arthur?”

Arthur laughed, a bit dazedly, and Merlin wasn’t sure if he had heard the question.  “You let an old man limp through the castle while you’re in here sleeping?  Good lad, you are.”

Merlin frowned.  “I’m looking after a potion, you prat,” he nodded towards the vat of purple liquid, then rushed to lower the flames when he realized it was on the verge of overflowing.

Arthur snorted.

“Load of help you are, _Mer_ lin,” and made a motion with his arm, presumably to rap the inept boy over the head, but the action was cut short as Arthur staggered back, clutching his right shoulder.

Merlin was at his side in an instant, helping him onto the cot.

“What have you done to yourself now?”

“Nothing!” he sulked, but then sighed.  “I was late on the parry and pulled my shoulder on the way up.”

Merlin started gently prying off Arthur’s dirty armor.  “Were you fighting Gwaine?”

“No, the new one, Sir Simon.”

Merlin frowned, trying to place him.  “Simon?  The bumbling one who knocks everything over?  Huh.  It’s good he’s improved, then.”

Arthur shook his head.  “No, he’s still spectacularly terrible.  I was just distracted today, I guess.”

“By what?"

Arthur just stared straight ahead and shrugged mechanically.  

Merlin narrowed his eyes, and then rolled them, losing all hope of ever understanding this man.

“Don’t move, I’ll get you a salve.”  Merlin strode over to the bottom cabinet where the soothing medicine was kept and stooped, reaching his hand far back across the shelves to rummage for the bottle, but still not feeling the smooth glass, he ducked his head inside to gain some visuals.  

Arthur’s voice came from the cot just as he wrapped his fingers around the bottleneck.

“Gods Merlin, what the hell have you got on your pants?”

Merlin stilled as he felt the disobeying steel boots pattering up next to him and then jerked up and cursed loudly as the back of his head connected with the hard wood with a resounding thwack because a warm hand had just brushed something off the seat of his trousers.

He pulled his head out, rubbing the back of it, and stared with wide eyes at the similarly wide-eyed prince, whose face was getting redder and redder with every passing second.

“What –”

“Nothing.”

“But – ”

“I have to go.”

“It’s all right… ”

But the only response Merlin received was a faint, “Just give it to George” reaching his confused ears because Arthur was already in the corridor, though not before stumbling over his own battered armor and banging an elbow into the doorframe.

Merlin cocked his head as a slow and truly evil smirk unfurled on his face.

 

~*~

 

And so it was that once again Arthur Pendragon was pacing around his chambers, biting his nails with great ferocity, and thinking that it was probably not a good thing that this was becoming a common occurrence. 

It was getting to be too much, as his sore shoulder and still tingling elbow reminded him.  He really needed to stop this.  

‘This’ being, of course:  the incessant thoughts about curling his fingers in the curling hairs at the nape of his neck; the terrifying desire to interrupt one of his nervous rambles with a biting kiss; the crippling compulsion to lightly trace the fragile veins down the translucent skin of his wrist; or just the aching need to hear what sound the beat of an armored heart against his would make after a quiet and thoughtful remark beside the firelight because it really shouldn’t be possible, or fair, for that matter, for such an incompetent fool to be so damn wise.

Of course, these… _peculiar_ emotions had certainly been there before, though in a much lesser concentration, the events at the stables, or The Day It All Shot To Hell, as he had taken to calling it, and seeing Merlin in such a context, had done nothing but amplify these feelings, feelings that really should not be amplified.

A tap at the door and George’s monotonous tones came through.  “Salve for your shoulder, Sire?”

Arthur darted to open the door, snatched the bottle out of the startled boy’s hands and said, firmly, “Thank you.  That is all.”

“Would the prince require assistance in dressing for the event this evening?”

Arthur rolled his eyes and wondered how the boy himself did not die from his own boredom and grated out, “No.  Just be at the feast,” before slamming the door in his dull face.

He shrugged out his sweaty tunic, took some of the medicine out of the bottle, and tried to reach the sore region with the least amount of flinching, explicitly not thinking about what Merlin would say if he saw him in his endeavors, the single, raised eyebrow, the sarcastic remark, or cheeky laugh.

And he especially did _not_ wish Merlin were here to rub the salve on him.

After about a half hour of stumbling about the room and only getting a paltry amount of medicine where it actually mattered, he decided he had had enough and set about getting dressed.  By himself.  Which took another hour and many an outraged curse before he managed to look half presentable.

He gave a perfunctory glance in the mirror, but didn’t really care how he looked, and threw open the door, heading to the main foyer, not too terribly late, at least.

When he entered the hall with the disproportionately large dining table, waiting for the guests to arrive, he pulled up a chair, and then about jumped out of it when a voice, right next to his ear, said, low and soft, “Wine, Sire?”

Arthur whipped around and his eyes widened.

“Merlin!  Where’s George?  I thought I told you to take the day off!”

“Well, when have I ever followed orders?” he laughed quietly and smirked.  “Oh, and George is, uh…sick.”

“Sick?  But I saw him not two hours ago.”

Merlin shrugged nonchalantly.  “I guess something got to him.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes and evaluated Merlin's too-innocent expression.

“You didn’t –”

“Sorry Sire, must dash, goblets to fill, lords to amuse,” and maybe it was just the light of the chandelier playing tricks on him, but Arthur could have sworn he saw Merlin wink at him, and then he was gone, lost in the bustle of people coming in and out of the kitchens.

 

~*~

 

When he was at a safe distance, Merlin looked back and, seeing Arthur’s utterly lost look staring straight ahead with his mouth hanging slightly open, gave a loud laugh and shook his head fondly.  The prat.  Merlin was worried Arthur would give him a hard time about all this, but it seems as though the tables have turned. 

Honestly, it was like Arthur couldn’t even look him in the eye anymore, and now that Merlin knew just how uncomfortable with all this he was, it was, naturally, Merlin’s mission to tease him as much as possible; it was practically in his job description.

Well, maybe not.  But he never actually got a job description, so can you blame him?

His arms loaded with steaming platters, he made his way back to the dining hall and carefully set them down in front of the diners, then bent down behind Arthur and laid a palm on his back, silently laughing at how he stiffened.  

“Need anything else, Sire?” he murmured, but Arthur shook his head and started shoveling food into his mouth, eager for the distraction, but Merlin continued.

“I am at your full service, you know,” he drawled in Arthur’s ear, and, not being able to hold it in any longer, burst out with a small fit of giggles when Arthur almost spat his mouthful all over the table.

Apparently finally figuring out what was going on here, Arthur met Merlin’s eyes, which were now tearing up with held back laughter, and looked positively outraged.  But before he could personally drag him down to the stocks, Uther asked for everyone’s attention for a toast, Merlin disappeared back into the kitchens, and Arthur sighed.

It was going to be a long night.

 

~*~

 

It was Arthur’s fourth order for a refill of his goblet when Merlin finally said something. 

“Sire, you’ve already had quite a lot of wine…”

Arthur silenced him with a glare.  “I thought you were at my full service, _Mer_ lin.”

Merlin frowned, but reluctantly obliged.  His plan may have backfired a bit.  After all, it was him that had to drag Arthur’s royal dead weight back to his chambers after dinner.

Two hours later, Arthur could barely sit without falling over much less make the trek back to his bed and Merlin dejectedly resigned himself to heaving Arthur up, hands clasped around his middle, trying to drag him out in the most dignified manner possible while the Prince of Pratness dragged his feet, deliberately making their trip harder.

Out of breath and, at first silently, but now not so silently, cursing Arthur, Merlin huffed their way to the rooms where Merlin deposited the already snoring heap of idiot onto the bed and huffed in relief, content enough with the fact that he managed to resist the urge of shoving Arthur into the first alcove he saw.

It’s not like the moronic drunkard would have noticed, anyway.

And Merlin did try to turn around and head straight out the door, he promised, but then he noticed a light tug at the sleeve of his tunic and saw Arthur’s sleepy fingers curled softly around the fraying material and he had no idea what compelled him to but he found himself stumbling to the other side of the bed and sliding under the Arthur-warmed sheets and falling into the Arthur-formed dip with an Arthur-perfect hand around his previously Arthur-lonely waist.

 

~*~

 

Arthur’s eyes felt glued shut, and he was almost absolutely sure there was a brick lying in place of his head.  He didn’t even bother trying to get up yet because if he couldn’t feel the sun against his closed eyelids then it was probably still entirely too early, but he _could_ feel a familiar warmth next to him so he blindly turned towards it and snuggled closer, breathing in the faint smell of clover and cherries, and he was lost to the world once again.

 

~*~

 

Merlin opened his eyes lazily to the slight tickling at the back of his neck, like someone was breathing just against it.  

Turned out, someone was.  

After figuring out exactly _who_ that someone was, he went ram-rod straight and carefully extricated himself, his heart rising a little higher into his throat as he saw Arthur, eyes thankfully still shut, sleepily frowning at the lack of Merlin beside him and it rose higher still when his sleep-ridden voice murmured a low and rough, “ _Merlin_ ” and it was all he could do to not jump back in bed without a care in the world but that of course wasn’t the world he lived in.

Merlin bolted out of the chambers as quietly as humanly possible, and maybe it was contagious, but he started to stride back and forth through the corridor, wringing his hands so hard they started to burn, wondering what in hell Arthur was playing at.  He had thought his flounderings were the extent of his, but apparently he assumed wrong.

Very, very wrong.

What, Arthur saw him with another boy and now he thought he would go along with every boy that he laid eyes on?

Well, he supposes Arthur isn’t just a _boy_ ; in fact, he is very unboyish in many ways, like how his rough and sleepy stubble caught the morning sun and how his strong hands carried a sword and offered food to a passing child in such a different manner, how the very air rippled around him no matter what he was doing, as if excited to be in his presence.

But that was not the point.

The point was, he reminded himself firmly, that he was not some dirty dish rag Arthur could use and throw in the rubbish pile when he was through with it.  He was a person with feelings, goddammit, and just as he had stopped pacing and decided upon this fact, the door in front of him swung open and out stepped the infuriating man of issue.

But Arthur stopped short, having found what had made him so grumpily get out of bed and Merlin gulped and tried so hard not to notice how the streaming slant of sun across his eyes made them sparkle like they held the stars and it kind of hurt for Merlin to breathe now and Gods, the day at the stables seemed absolutely laughable compared to this, whatever _this_  was, he really had no idea, but he supposed he didn’t really want to know.

Arthur held out his hand but Merlin just stared at it, so he dropped it.

“What’s wrong?”

Merlin blinked, and asked, quiet and quivering, “What are you doing?”

Arthur blinked back.  “What do you mean?  I thought…” he trailed off, because he thought Merlin loved him back, but he couldn’t very well say that, could he, and so the swallowed words just scratched his throat on the way back down, while he stepped closer towards the dazed boy and before he could catch himself, Merlin was smoothing the calluses of his thumbs over the grooves in Arthur’s furrowed brow which then was knocking against his own and yes, Merlin knew what Arthur thought.

Then all thoughts promptly fled his brain when his lips met more with pleasant surprise, soaked with sleep and stale wine and Merlin pressed back harder and when Arthur stepped back slightly, he just followed and dragged him back tighter and when Merlin gasped for air Arthur tugged him back just as quick and so it went, for maybe seconds or days, no one could tell, a never ending circle of pulling away and pulling towards, a cycle neither ever wanted to break.


End file.
